


Blood on the Sand

by ADyingFlower



Series: I'm only doing this because I love you [6]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Blood and Gore, Captivity, Codependency, Cognitive Dissonance, Dark Keith (Voltron), Kidnapping, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Mental Coercion, Murder, Possessive Behavior, Stockholm Syndrome, Survivor Guilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-15
Updated: 2019-05-15
Packaged: 2020-03-05 12:14:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18828487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ADyingFlower/pseuds/ADyingFlower
Summary: There’s blood.So much blood.Keith pants heavily, shaking his wrist out before wiping the blood off the knife on his dark pants. Then, as if a thought occurred to him, he glances back at Lance frantically, only calming when he sees the Latino boy still collapsed on his knees in front of the shack, a splatter of blood decorating his cheek."You okay, darlin’?” Keith calls out, his eyes squinting from the desert sun. There was blood staining the collar of his shirt, his hands up to his wrists dyed red. “Why don’t you go back inside? I’ll clean this and fix you up something calming in just a bit.”But Lance doesn’t move. Can’t move.Because Keith just killed someone. All because of him.(Lance receives help from an unexpected source, while Keith reveals the dangerous depths of his obsession)





	Blood on the Sand

**Author's Note:**

> 6/12

There’s blood.

So much blood.

Keith pants heavily, shaking his wrist out before wiping the blood off the knife on his dark pants. Then, as if a thought occurred to him, he glances back at Lance frantically, only calming when he sees the Latino boy still collapsed on his knees in front of the shack, a splatter of blood decorating his cheek.  

"You okay, darlin’?” Keith calls out, his eyes squinting from the desert sun. There was blood staining the collar of his shirt, his hands up to his wrists dyed red. “Why don’t you go back inside? I’ll clean this and fix you up something calming in just a bit.”

But Lance doesn’t move. Can’t move.

Because Keith just killed someone. All because of him.

-

_Three hours earlier_

Lance hums along to the old timey radio, smoothing a hand down Blue’s back. He ignores how Keith’s hands run up and down his sides, his legs caging him in and his chin on Lance's shoulder. Trapped like a butterfly in a spider's web.

A particularly sharp note in the song has his voice cracking and Keith letting out a breathy laugh against his neck. Those hands pause to thumb along his hips, drawing invisible, reverent circles right where his borrowed shirt rides up.

They’ve been this way for what feels like hours, tucked away on the corner of the bed, isolated from whatever happens outside of their quiet bubble of peace. The sun continues to move outside, the air conditioning putters along, and yet the two of them (plus Blue) continue to stay curled together.

Keith runs his nose along the curve of his neck, pressing wet kisses every so often. Lance stiffens, but forcibly tries to make himself relax. Keith doesn't like it when he shows aversion to his touch, so as long as Lance stay soft, soft and pliable and obedient, he'll be good to him. 

He won’t go any farther than this, he knows his. If he does, Lance will end it himself.

Keith knows that. It’s why Lance hears him sigh, slowly retracting his hand with one last gentle sweep of his sides. “I’m going to make some dinner. You want anything in particular?”

Inexplicably, he feels... _guilty_ over pushing Keith away. It wasn’t too bad up to the kisses, and he knows Keith cares too much about his mental state to actually…yeah.

“....That soup you made, a couple days ago?” He asks, ducking his head as a bout of shyness sweeps over him.

But Lance peeks up just enough to see the way Keith’s smile softens. “Of course! It takes a little while, you want a book?”

Lance nods, as while Blue is a wonderful cat and he loves her to death and is _so_ grateful for her presence, just sitting her and petting her with nothing but his thoughts gets a little boring after a while. He watches as Keith strolls over to the small bookcase they have, thumbing his fingers over the spine covers until they get to a much newer section, with bright covers and bold letters compared to the ratty, thin novels with small print Keith prefers.

Never let it be said that the man doesn’t do his research.

“Harry Potter sounds good?” He asks, already tugging the first of the series out of the shelf. When he hands the book over, Keith makes sure to give him a quick forehead kiss before strolling off to the kitchenette area, a giddy smile gracing his face as he strolls off.

Lance slowly touches the area where Keith kissed him, feeling it tingle as if Keith’s kiss was a balm. Abruptly, he yanks his hand down, feeling foolish.

Idiot. Why the hell is he swooning over a few kind actions from his _kidnapper?_

The spots where his neck was kissed burn.

“Shit!”

Lance jerks his head up, watching Keith slam the fridge door shut, kicking it for good measure. “Shit shit shit!”

“Um...Keith?”

Keith pauses, as if forgetting that Lance is right there, always right there, glancing over his shoulder -

Oh shit. He looks like he’s about to cry.

“I’m sorry baby,” Keith chokes out, scrubbing his forearm against his eyes. “We’re all out of stew beef, I can’t make the soup you wanted. I’m so useless, you were being so nice and good and I just wanted to reward you but I can’t -”

He doesn’t think about it. “Hey, hey, it’s okay.” Lance opens up his arms in invitation, scaring Blue away for her sake. “It’s no big deal, I promise. We can have something else for dinner.”

Keith hesitates. “You’re sure?”

“I’m sure.”

That’s all it takes. Keith bolts across the room, hurtling all his weight right into Lance’s arms, letting loose an ugly sob as he nestles into the folds of his oversized shirt. He really was just like a child, sometimes. 

Lance smiles softly, folding up the older man into arms and leaning back into the bed. “You big baby, it’s okay. Shh, it’s okay.” He repeats, rocking both of them back and forth, back and forth. Gently, he smooths down Keith's wayward locks, humming along to the near silent radio, muffling Keith's choked wails. "I'm not mad, nobody's mad at you, okay? Just take deep breaths for me, in, out..."

The two of them remain like that for who knows how long - Keith doesn’t keep a clock in the house, but the sun had sunk lower in the sky till it was only a couple of inches from the horizon.

It’s only then that Keith’s sobs finally begin to calm, the dark-haired boy leaning back to rub his face furiously against the flannel of his sleeve. “Sorry,” Keith manages to say through his hoarse voice, but Lance just shakes his head. It's an all too similar sight to when his depression was extremely bad, when any minor misstep of his led him to breaking into tears and scratching at his arms until they bled.

It is bad, to sympathize with his captor?

Not for the first one, he wishes they had internet out here. At least cable, something besides the scratchy radio that Keith broke out of the bottom of his closet to remind him that they weren't the only ones left in this world. 

“Don’t be sorry.”

Keith watches him with red eyes, unmoving, face terrifyingly blank, as if he was appraising Lance from head to toe.

“Uhhh…” Keith seems to snap out of it at his stutter, jumping back to his feet with a determined glint in his eyes. “Keith?”

“I’m getting that stew beef, and I’m _making_ you that soup.” Keith grits out, stomping over to the foot of the bed, where his bare ankle was locked by a short chain leading under the bed. He tests the strength of it several times, yanking on it with all his strength until he was satisfied that it was going to hold. And just for good measure, he goes to open the bedside cupboard.

Lance’s face falls. “I’m good without it, please, I don’t like it…”

Keith shifts the collar around in his hands several times, obviously debating whether to take Lance’s word for it. Then he smiles apologetically, reaching for the chain port somewhere far above his head.

He sighs, but he doesn’t fight it, willingly letting Keith tilt his head forward to lock the collar around the back of his neck. At least Keith has stopped drugging him so often, citing that he didn't want to get Lance addicted to whatever he dosed his morning tea with whenever he had to go out. 

At least a shack in the middle of nowhere is perfect for a detox, he muses.

“You don’t need to use the bathroom, right?” At Lance’s shake of the head, Keith drops a kiss on his cheek and starts his usual routine of preparing some water bottles and snacks for when he’s gone.

He hates the collar. Lance could forget about the ankle cuff if he stays still enough, and it barely restricts his movement as long as he stays on the bed. The collar though - he despises that. It itches, it gives him neck cramps after long enough, and he can never sleep comfortably with it on. It's only really busted out now for when he's behaving badly, or when Keith has to leave him alone for a bit and he's feeling on edge. 

“Bye lovely, I’ll see you later.” Keith rushes to say, obviously keeping an eye on the sun outside. It wasn’t safe to be driving through the off-road desert at night, but Lance wasn’t going to be the one to talk him out of it. “Enjoy your book!”

And then he’s gone, the front door swinging shut behind him, leaving a howling cat and a chained up boy in the shack behind him.

-

Now, hours later and feeling Keith’s blood slick hands petting through his hair, his voice a false soothe of _it's okay sweetheart, I have you, I took care of that scary man don't cry-_

Lance wishes Keith never left him alone to begin with.

-

It starts with the rumble of an engine.

Lance closes his book with a silent ‘ _finally_ ’ on his lips. It’s only been an hour, and he knows it takes awhile to get to the nearest store, but he’s _bored_. The radio has since been turned off, and he hates the quiet of the shack, of the _desert_.

Even Blue’s purrs couldn’t keep the silence away. Sometimes, the only thing that could drown it out was Keith's voice. 

“Took you long enough -”

“Kogane!” A voice that’s definitely not Keith’s interrupts him, heavy footsteps stomping up the porch’s stairs. “You shitty son of a bitch, when I get my hands on you -”

The door swings open, and the man cuts off.

Lance can feel the way his gaze darts around the house, eventually settling on him. On him and the collar around his neck, the anklet keeping him leashed to the bed.

The man’s face twitches, horror quickly overtaking anything else Lance could glean from his face.

“Hey,” The man asks, softer this time, yet Lance still flinches. “I’m not gonna hurt you, but who are you?”

Lance opens his mouth, then closes. C’mon brain, work! Freedom is right in sight, yet he can’t choke back the sheer _terror_ climbing up his throat.

Keith, oh _Keith_.

The man takes a step forward, slow with his palms open. “Let me start; I’m James, I’m looking for Keith Kogane?”

His hands jerk at the name, before he forcibly shoves them underneath his armpits to hide them. Work, mouth, fucking work!

(He never knew Kogane was Keith's last name)

But the man - _James_ \-  takes it as confirmation all the same. “Okay, shit, do you know where the key is to your...chains?”

Lance begins to shake his head no, but that’s not quite true. He knows where Keith keeps the keys, always out of reach.

Why does he want to say no?

He points with a shaking hand all the same. Towards the table held up by cinder blocks in the center of the room, and under.

James crouches down, squinting into the darkness before visibly lighting up, his hand lashing out under the table. There’s a loud sound of Velcro popping, and then the jangle of multiple set of keys.

“I’m gonna let you go now,” James instructs, gingerly taking steps forward until he’s by his bedside, hands already reaching out for the back of the collar. “I, uh… what’s your favorite color?”

Despite himself, Lance can’t help but let out a little snort. _That’s_ what James decided to say?

“What can I say, I’m a little stressed right now.” James defends, but he’s smiling too, obviously uplifted that Lance can still find humor in this situation. “My favorite is green.”

There was an expected silence, making Lance swallow heavily. But...he should, right?

“...Orange.” Orange like Hunk, like his mother’s apron, like the desert sunset, like fizzy alcoholic drinks and deceptive smiles, like the glowing _Quintessence_  sign as his vision swirls around him and warm hands pull him away from everything he's ever known.

James head darts up from figuring out which key fits, his own smile gracing his face. “Yeah? Orange is a pretty nice color. I’m from Cali, you?”

“Cuba.”

His eyebrow rises. “Cuba? That’s a bit of a distance.”

Lance fumbles for a moment. “I…went to school here. In America. Full-ride.” He wants to say more, wants to explain how he studied for years and years to attend his dream school, how he taught himself English despite his older brothers mocking for a foolish dream, how the tides came onto the beach and washed against his feet, his mama's loving smile as he showed off his acceptance letter. All of those things, locked up tight for so long, bubble up in his sternum and threaten to overflow. 

“Impressive,” James whistles as the the collar finally pops off, not skipping a beat as he moves on to the ankle cuff. “What school?”

“Garrison.”

James stops. “The Garrison? The _Garrison_? Oh god, you’re that kid! That kid that went missing months ago who sent a letter to his family. That international incident is _you_.”

He looks around, as if finally noticing the shack for the first time. “And that fuckin’ Kogane is keeping you here locked up, for what?”

Lance shrugs. Not even he fully understands why Keith is so obsessed with _him_ of all people.

The ankle cuff unlocks with a resounding ‘click’, and James doesn’t waste any time, already grabbing one of Lance’s arm and hefting him out of the bed. “C’mon, we need to get you out of here, _now_. I would call the cops if we had any cell reception, but we need to leave before Kogane comes back.”

Oh. He’s scared.

There’s a flash of grey fur out of the corner of his eye -

Blue. God he can’t leave Blue, Keith will _kill_ her. He made that certain the day he came home with a cat carrier in one hand and a threat in the other. She's company, but she's also insurance. If Keith isn't willing to hurt Lance, he'll hurt her instead. 

“Fuck!” James swears loudly as Lance lunges out of his grip, because he can’t explain, he has to get _Blue_ -

But then James reaches out and yanks him back, ignoring his wordless yell as he reaches out with grasping hands for his baby girl -

“No!” He screams out, digging his heels fruitlessly into the ground as Blue starts to bounce towards him, but not fast enough they’ll leave her behind they can’t leave her behind he can’t leave _him_ behind -

“C’mon,” James mutters, and then he’s throwing open the door, pulling Lance easily behind him despite his pinwheeling arms. “We have to _go_ -”

And then the sound of the car engine cuts off.

-

Keith carries him back into the house, keeping his face hidden in his (bloody) jacket, straight back to the bed.

James, he just killed _James_ -

But who truly killed James?

Keith or Lance?

There’s the sound of a lock clicking shut, and the warmth of a body over him.

When he blinks open his eyes, Keith is staring at him with his own wet eyes.

“I love you,” He breathes, fingers barely brushing against his cheek. “I love you more than anything. I’ll fucking kill anyone who tries to take you away from me.”

Lance mouth opens, but he can’t think of anything to say. His mind is blank.

Keith leans down, until their mouths are just inches apart. His gaze is dark, the color of blood against the sand.

“ _You will never, ever escape me._ ”

-

Both of them stand, frozen still, as the familiar figure hops out of SUV, grocery store bag clenched tightly in a white knuckled hand.

“Griffin.” Keith greets pleasantly, but there’s an undercurrent of fury to it, something that has Lance shrinking into himself. In...however many months he's been living here, he's never quite heard that tone before.  

James steps in front of him, movements cautious. Yet Keith’s face only hardens more, as he glance between James and Lance several times.

“Kogane,” James greets back, voice somehow still calm, but there’s something undeniably nervous to it. “You’re late on your loan.”

“Hmm.” Keith flicks his gaze back to Lance, and then takes a very purposeful step forward, a smirk playing around his lips. James makes them step back.

James cuts to the heart of the issue. “Kogane, why are you keeping a _teenage_ boy locked up in your home?”

Keith ignores James. “Lance,” He drags the name out, practically caressing it. “Come here, darlin’. Did he hurt you?”

Lance squeezes his eyes shut, hurriedly shaking his head ‘no’. James scoffs.

“ _I_ hurt him? Kogane, he’s covered in bruises!”

Is he? Glancing down at himself, he can see that both his ankles and even his wrists have dark circular bruising on them. Raising a shaking hand, he feels his throat, pulse jumping at all the welts and sore spots.

Why didn’t he notice them before?

Keith’s eyes ice over. “How _dare_ you,” He hisses out, stomping towards them purposely. James grips his elbow and rapidly shoves both of them to the side, trying to create distance by avoiding the shack at their backs. “I’ve been nothing but wonderful to him. Hand him over, Griffin. _Now_.”

Lance feels the way James shakes. Feels the way the realization that he might just die here, from simply walking in at the wrong time. Yet James straightens up regardless, shuffling Lance behind him protectively despite the fact that Lance is taller than him.

“Over my dead body.” James promises, body tensing for a fight.

Keith grins, sharp like a coyote. “That can be arranged.”

Then James is shoving him backwards, sending him toppling onto his ass as Keith launches himself towards them.

He has to help - he has to -

Oh god -

He has to help J a m e s

But

There’s a guttural scream, and then the sound of flesh giving way. And again. And again.

Something splashes on his face, in his mouth, like rotting pennies.

Why

Won’t

It

Stop

“It’s alright love,” Keith’s voice breaks the howling inside his head. “He won’t ever bother us again.”

Keith sharply grins, gaze now focused on Lance, because Lance is the prey, the animal caught in the coyotes trap, he’s going to be killed -

They both look at James, who now has his insides ripped open, _flayed just like an animal -_

Lance screams, but no one will ever hear him.

-

They’re curled together on the bed, Keith’s back pressed against the wall and gently spooning Lance. Keith occasionally shushes him everytime thoughts of James invade his mind, stroking his hair soothingly.

His wrists are shackled together now, along with his ankles. Even his neck is attached with the collar and a loose chain. Lance can’t really blame Keith for the lack of trust, but it’s hard to be comfortable, hard to _breathe_. The blood has dried, brown smears coating the hand covering his. 

“Keith?” He hesitantly asks.

Lance gets a sleepy hum in return. “Hmm?”

“What would you do, if I escaped?”

There’s silence. Keith’s hand stills in his hair, nails digging into his scalp.

“If you escaped?” Keith’s voice is dangerously low. “I’ll track you down, bring you back here by whatever means necessary, even if I have to kill your entire fucking family and beat you bloody. Then I’ll make you _hurt_. Take what I want from you, because if you won’t stay with me, then I better just kill you. I can’t stand the thought of you smiling at anyone else.”

Keith leans in, biting sharply on his earlobe. “Don’t worry, I’ll kill myself afterwards too. We’ll be together, in this life and the next.”

Lance's not getting out of here alive, is he? He's never leaving here. He's completely and utterly trapped, a rabbit in the mouth of a coyote. 

He chokes on a quiet sob, not fighting it as Keith starts cooing at him and tucks him under his chin. “But don’t worry, that’s a last resort. You’ve been _so_ good recently, I know it’s stressful. Take all the time you need to adjust to life here, with me, sweetheart.”

He nods, and that seems to be enough of an answer for Keith, who simply goes back to trying to merge the two of them together, until neither of them can tell where one of them ends and the other begins. 

“Oh! I forgot the stew meat.” Keith chuckles sheepishly. “Guess I’ll have to go back to the store tomorrow after all.”

**Author's Note:**

> Next: Escape


End file.
